


Cat’s Cradle

by bottomboybye



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: I know nothing about cats sorry in advance, IM OVERWHELMED, PTSD, Panic Attack, The fic in which jack gets adopted by a bunch of cats, There’s a lot of cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 11:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomboybye/pseuds/bottomboybye
Summary: Jack is wholly unprepared for the new tenants taking residence in his safe house.





	Cat’s Cradle

The place Jack dips in for the night is dilapidated. Half the roof is exposed, an untold amount of pests, and weak floors would more likely to kill him before any gang member did.    
  
He’s come to call it home, regardless. 

He has money he could spend to buy a real house, tied into an account that’s not in Morrison’s name. But he wouldn’t be a vigilante if he spent blood money, would he?   
  
This is good enough, for the time being. He bought this building with the reward money that came from fighting the good fight. He tries to renovate it by hand while he’s waiting on information. It feels good to work with his hands, be a little mindless for a while. Pretend he’s a human being instead of a two legged weapon.   
  
The rats are a problem he isn’t quite sure how to solve, however. He does vaguely remember something about rats and rabies? Or the plague. He honestly can’t remember. He begins to notice little eyes that reflect in the night. Some of his wood boards being pushed around when he comes back to patch a leak after rain fall. It’s annoying but he’s managing. The vermin appear less and less, he hears less scurrying in the middle of the night. 

His resident ghost startles him when Jack hears a paint can rattle and fall on the ground. He feels a little foolish when stalks around the cornering, pointing a weapon down an empty hallway. He stands there for a beat before holstering the gun and being relieved no one was there to see him. He’s a mess, no one else needs to know how thoroughly fucked up he is.

Dead rats begin to appear at his doorway a few days later. Some are half eaten, some are freshly killed, there doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason behind what he’ll end up with that day. Jack wrinkles his nose at the carcasses before throwing them into the alleyway so whatever creature could dine on them would have a meal. He appreciates his tenants’ rent but this is getting a little ridiculous. 

At least he knows that cats have some to pick up after him. He can handle cats, great distant critters. Great, is he going to need to flea treat his new home? He hopes he doesn’t. God, he hates fleas. But, he’ll digress. It is far warmer in his house than the bitter outside. He sees wet paw prints on some surfaces near the sacrifices left for him letting him know these are adult cats that watch over him. He still hasn’t seen a single cat though. 

It gives him an idea. 

The next time Jack goes grocery shopping, he makes a point of going into the pet aisle. There are a lot of colors, flashy signs, and everything claims to be the best for whatever animal he seems to have. There’s at least 7 feet of shelving for cats. For an old soldier, he finds himself overwhelmed with a decision that’s far more complex than any he’s made in years. He can’t make an informed decision. He should have researched before coming here. There are too many options. How does anyone know what to pick?

  
“Can I help you, sir?” An associate asks and he nods. They smile at him and he points to his list. ‘Cat food’ is a messy scrawl. He doesn’t trust his voice, it has been known to be iconic, after all. Even the smoke damage to his vocal cords couldn’t help disguise his voice from anyone that listened to the old recordings.    
  
“What age? Type?” They ask. Jack doesn’t know ages or types. They’re just strays that have managed to adopt him. He doesn’t even know what they look like. It’s frustrating beyond belief!   
  
Jack furrows his brow, grabbing a pen from his pocket.    
  
‘Stray’. He writes.    
  
The associate walks off and grabs a bag. Huge. Not the best quality but he doubts his cats are picky when they leave him rotten mice. 

“There’s a catch and release program at the shelter. It’s where they fix cats and you just let them go outside again. It helps with population control. Cats are _ super  _ invasive and can destroy entire ecosystems.” They say. It makes sense to Jack, they always got the farm cats fixed so there wouldn’t be any overrunning of the farm. Also stopped the queens from screaming their heads off during heat.  

Jack nods, touching the bag. It’s some brand he’s never heard of but he’s sure to fill the cats’ bellies. He hopes his tenants like this instead of the rats he keeps finding. Maybe if he can provide them with food, they’ll stop providing for him? He’s really tired of dealing with dead mice. 

He buys bowls, food, and other things for himself. He doesn’t know exactly what a cat needs but the associate offers him different ideas of what they might be okay with. He also picks up catnip seeds. He hopes they’ll like them.

He really doesn’t want to go into a pet store, that shows too much commitment he isn’t ready to give.    
  
Going home is a quiet affair. The walk is easy for a man with greater strength than not. He is efficient in putting everything away. He nearly jumps out of his skin at the cat on his counter when he’s done putting milk in the fridge. 

The cat stares at him, yellow eyes following his every moment. Calico? He thinks. He knows all calicos are female but that’s the extent of knowledge on that front.    
  
“Shoo.” He waves his hand at her. She looks at him and yawns. Bored. She finds him... boring?   
  
Thanks, cat. Jack thinks to himself, amused.     
  
“Seriously? Go.” No movement. He grunts, displeased. He’s not as patient as he used to be. The grocery store sucks away most of his energy, if he’s completely honest. He hasn’t been okay in a store in years, even before the destruction of the organization he built from the ground up. He doesn’t want to make decisions anymore, they’re always wrong.   
  


She doesn’t move. Jack makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and gives up trying to get her to move. Fine. He’ll just work around her. Groceries are placed and moved. He looks for holes in the cabinets where mice might chew on his grains. 

Every so often he’ll look up to see her watching him. Judging him. He swears he blinks and then two more cats show up. A weird looking tabby with no tail and a tuxedo that’s missing an eye. They’ve seen a hell of a life, just like Jack is. Something settles into his bones, something familiar and nice. The tuxedo reminds him of Reinhardt. One eyed but still jovial. He swears he can see the cat smile at him as it flicks its tail. The tabby narrows its eyes at him, Jack doesn’t know what to make of that. Does it not like him on principle? Hah, it's just like Ana. The shade to Reinhardt’s sun. 

He wishes they could have done something together before they fractured beyond repair.  
  
Jack has to take a moment to contemplate what he’s thinking about. Does he really miss the old team? God, he does. He’s so lonely. He’s tired.  

What a bunch of weird ass cats that have taken residence in his rafters. Are they all judging him? Can they tell he’s a shell of a once great men festering in his own ruin? Do they pity him? Jack doesn't deserve a shred of it.

  
Maybe that’s why the cats came? Nah, these cats were just after a warm place to sleep and free food. 

He pushes the thought out of his mind, grabbing the food and steps out the side door. The alleyway is dark. He thinks about setting up some lights out here to give his cats something to help with the bugs. 

His cats? They are strays and not his own. He shakes his head as he puts the bowls on the ground. 

Sweat beads on the back of his neck when hears something crash. He drops the unopened bag of food and reaches for his weapon tethered to his thigh. His heart pounds as he watching a small creature scurry across the ground. Raccoon, his brain supplies. He picks up the bowls and brings them inside. 

His mama raised him better than leaving food outside for the raccoons to eat. They have the rabies, not mice.    
  
Shit, what does he do now? His plan was foiled by an overgrown rodent.    
  
He looks at the counter to plan when he notices the number of cats on the island has multiplied. There’s a total of five cats looking at him as if he’s in their space and not the other way around.    
  
“What the fuck?” He finds himself saying. One of the cats tilts its head at him as if it can understand what he’s saying. Cats are weird, he’s always been a dog person. Gabe liked cats, not him.    
  
They’re judging him if the way their eyes squint at him means anything. Do they know he doesn’t like cats? Do they know he’s a pathetic waste of space that should have never survived the explosion that tore his face? Are they the harbingers of death waiting for his inevitable slip into the void?   
  
Jack finds his anxiety spiking. He takes a breath, evening his heart beat with the breathing exercises his therapist taught him years ago. In, one, two. Out, one, two. He can do this. They’re just cats. They don’t have opinions.    
  
“Merrow?” One of the cats rumbles. He finds a cat rubbing against his leg. It looks too skinny, hip bones jutting out uncomfortably. Jack’s chest constricts. It’s hard to breathe. There are too many cats. He’s in over his head. What is he doing here? Why are they here?   
  
Jack grabs the counter and four cats retreat. Good. The less cats the better. He can’t do this with so many eyes looking at him. He’ll make a mistake and they'll judge him. Everyone Always does. His world still feels like it’s tilting but the world has never given a shit about Jack’s needs. The black cat tilts its head at him. It walks slowly up to him, sniffing the air. Great, does he smell as well?    
  
“Why me?” Jack asks, voice cutting out in a rasp. He’s never liked cats. He’s always been a dog person. Cats shit in boxes, it’s weird. Cats are weird. 

  
The cat looks at him with bright yellow eyes. He remembers stories about black cats and bad juju. He knows that’s why Gabe loved then most. He always sent him cute black cats at shelters looking for him. Jack had never let him bring them into the house. Now he wishes he had. He wishes he’d given Gabe everything he wanted in life. He owed the man that much even if he did lead him to his inevitable demise. 

  
“Is this Hell? Are you all here to torture me? Why me?” He wheezes out, eyes squeezing shut to block out some stimuli. Maybe if he’s stops thinking he won’t have to focus on the cats and they’ll do away. They won’t be there if he can’t see them!

  
It was a terrible plan. The cat pushes itself into Jack’s space, still sniffing. Jack cracks open an eye to look at it. Its face looks at the food bowl then back at Jack. Something dawns on Jack, they’re hungry.    
  
The cat is thin, they all are now that he thinks about it. They’ve been forgoing meals to offer Jack something. He owes it to them to provide.    
  
Jack grabs the bag of cat food, pours a bit, and hopefully offers it to the cat. The cat is rigid, fur puffing up with his quick movements. The cat runs away, leaving him with a full bowl of food and a shocking sense of failure.   
  
He thought he did the right thing? He did offer it food. The cat should like him? Dogs make more sense, they like the house that feeds them. Who the fuck knew with cats?

  
He pulls out his phone to look up anything and everything about cats, pride stinging after the bout of rejection. How can he provide the right environment for them? How can he make them like him? This is a challenge and something to keep the noise out of his head.     
  
The catch and release program comes to mind.   
  
The next day he puts out five bowls of food before he leaves the house. It’s a brisk day, he wonders if the cats are warm. He can’t have that on his conscience. He can fix that. He can make them happy like he was unable to do with any human he ever existed with. This could be a partial penance for his many sins against humanity.    
  
A short trip to the shops has him with more blankets and pillows than he knows what to do with. Hopefully the cats will get the memo. 

  
Each unoccupied room gets a corner of bundles. Two pillows and a fleece blanket. Jack feels like he’s finally accomplishing something in his life that isn’t wake up, kill, then sleep.    
  
He’s doing good. Really good.    
  
Until the kittens show up.   
  
There’s four of them. The black cat is apparently a mom. Jack finds himself waking up in bed with said cat in his face and four wriggling balls of fur that scream for some ungodly reason.   
  
Jack blinks before completely shutting his eyes. 

Nope. This isn’t happening.    
  
The cat walks on his chest and wails. Claws dig into his chest as she kneads his skin. Jack hopes she’s getting comfortable because he certainly isn’t.    
  
Jesus, this is real. It can’t be.   
  
Jack knows not to touch kittens. Or is it birds? He has no idea but he’s freaking out. There are kittens in his bed. Mama cat is pissed about something and hurting him in retaliation.    
  
He walks into the kitchen and it greeted by eleven cats. Half of them are on the counter, three of them are at the bowls.   
  
The first thing Jack thinks about is, ‘I don’t have enough food bowls.’ The next is, ‘Why do I have so many cats?’ He pauses his thoughts, looking around the room. He has a plan. It’s a terrible one but better than nothing.    
  
He pulls a few baking dishes that he grabs and fills with kibble. He takes a batter bowl and shuffles to his room with the new Mama.    
  
“I guess I’ll call you Big Mama, huh?”   
  
He puts the bowl in the corner and gives her space. He’ll need to go to the store to pick up another bag of food. He’s also going to stop by the shelter and get these cats fixed. He needs to. There are too many fucking cats. This is absurd. Why does he have so many cats? This is obscene.   
  
His mental list is as follows:   


Food

Bowls

Shelter for traps 

Set traps

Bring cats to shelter

Fix cats

Release cats   
  
By the time he’s grabbing his keys from the kitchen, the bowls are clean and the cats, sans the original calico, are gone.    
  
He pets her head, she purrs softly in response. Jack can feel the stupid grin on his face pull at the scars. 

This could be okay.   
  
Jack signs up for the catch and release program. They say to bring in the cats and they’ll fix them. He’s saving their lives.    
  
Jack believes them and has no reason not to.    
  
Some cats are easily trapped and fixed but Big Mama never wants to go near the trap. He’ll get her someday.   
  
With each passing day, the cats get healthier. Jack invests in a waterfall system when he finds out that cats don’t still water. He swaps from bowls to plates when he finds that some cats are uncomfortable with bowls because their whiskers are sensitive.    
  
He builds catwalks along his home, little dens for them to dip into when they’re overwhelmed. There are far too many cardboard boxes laying around in the cat rooms.   
  
His colony of cats settles at 14 that come and go. They get vaccinated and dewormed. Jack finds his life has some purpose beyond being at the other side of a gun, after a while.    
  
“I never took you for a crazy cat lady, Jack.”    
  
Jack stalls in the doorway, hand on his Glock and aimed before he processes who is speaking to him.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Jack stares. He doesn’t lower the gun. He doesn’t dare move a muscle.    
  
“Is that any way to treat a woman, Jack? You’re supposed to offer me tea and tell me how much you’ve missed me.” She removes her face mask. The Shrike becomes Ana. Jack lets his gun rest at his side. Ana is a friendly, he doesn’t need to threaten her. 

  
“I missed our last drop, shit.” He curses, annoyed at himself. He had gotten so caught up in the cat fiasco he didn’t think about their latest information drop. 

“No harm was done. I missed it as well. I figured you would have laid low considering the Reaper is in town.” Ana comments, her fingers brushing against the head of his calico. 

  
Jack stands rigid, shutting the door. He counts every cat, all fourteen are safety in his home. Reaper has no reason to kill cats. He doesn’t know why he thinks so poorly of a man he used to love so deeply he risked his life and career for him.    
  
“What is Talon’s MO here?”   
  


“You,” Ana says with a clarity that throws Jack for a loop.    
  
“Huh?”   
  
“You’ve been consistently spotted. I doubt they’ve found your place of residence for you frequent stores for... your hoard.”   
  
“Colony or Pride, Ana.” He rolls his eyes, going to start the kettle to make tea.   
  


“Alas, your pride was always an issue.”   
  
“Point? Ana, really, I can’t leave them to defend themselves. I’m picking up Fluffy and dropping off Mittens tomorrow for her spay and then I have to get Crisp—“   
  
“Morrison? What have you done to yourself?”   
  
“I...”   
  
“What happened to defeating Talon at all cost? We need to know what happened. We...”   
  
“I know, Ana. I...” Jack rubs a hand down his face. The kettle hisses and Jack serves tea. He feels off balance. He finds he’s settled. He’s comfortable. He’s happier than he’s been in years, “I can’t leave them. I’m a grandpaw now.”   
  


“Excuse me?” Ana says, baffled. 

  
As to prove his point, Jack goes to his room to grab one of the kittens. Big Mama makes no fuss, letting the tall naked kitten take one of her offspring away.    
  
The runt. The replica of its mom.    
  
“Its name is Salem, like from the TV show. It sleeps on my chest and purrs when I pet it.”   
  
“Jack, you’ve gotten soft.” She states but reaches out to pet the sleepy baby. It yawns, unhappy to be disturbed.    
  
“I know. It’s time to go back, isn’t it?”    
  
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to ruin this for you. You deserve to be happy, Jack. We all do.”   
  
Jack holds his favorite to his chest. The littlest, pure black kitten that mewls at him for attention.   
  
“I need a few days and then we can leave. I need to take them to the shelter so they can be adopted by someone. I can’t just leave them here without someone to watch them.”   
  
But he could. An idea pops into his head.    
  
“Meet me at the rendezvous point in three days. We’ll go to Cairo as previously planned.”   
  


It takes those three days to set up the cameras and automatic feeders. It takes that long to have everything made so that he could be gone for weeks at a time without needing to be there.    
  
He set up a neighbor to feed the cats. Or, really, to refill the automatic feeders.   
  
He can open his phone at any moment and see five different cameras of what his babies were doing.    
  
Thirteen cats all accounted for.    
  
“Jack, seriously?” Ana sighs out. She can see his bag wriggling.    
  
“If you thought I was going to leave Salem behind, you thought wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on Twitter @bottomboybye


End file.
